


Playhouse

by shutupnerd



Category: Dangan Ronpa Another Episode: Ultra Despair Girls
Genre: Canon Divergent, Enemies to Friends, Izuru Kamukura is a dramatic bitch, Like, M/M, Pre-SDR2, Shakespeare, Theater References, Towa City, and we love him for it, at all, can you tell i read hamlet, izuru does not like makoto naegi, kamukoma - Freeform, lots of shakespearean references, maybe izuru and komaru become friends? i don't know, postgame, udg, ultra despair girls, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25936690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutupnerd/pseuds/shutupnerd
Summary: There’s an abandoned theater in Towa City. Rumor has it that a certain remnant has taken it up as his home.
Relationships: Fukawa Toko & Naegi Komaru, Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 110
Kudos: 302





	1. prologue (hamlet)

Towa City wasn’t exactly brightly lit, but it was never dark, either. If there were ten lamps on a street, four of them could reliably be expected to work. (Which four, however, depended on the day.) There was broken glass on the ground, naked bulbs burning all over town. They didn’t all work—that was a simple fact, like how (living) grass is green and how the guy on the corner of the street had a gun under his coat. (Had, that is, before he was mauled to death last week.) 

This simple fact was why Komaru Naegi pulled out her megaphone when every light on the abandoned street was in perfect condition. Toko pushed up her glasses, peering over the other’s shoulder. There was an playhouse, of all things, at the end of the road. Every unbroken bulb (of which there were few) shone radiantly. The door was open, a carpet rolled out.

Almost inviting them in.

“This feels like a trap,” Toko said, nibbling at her thumbnail. “We should stay back.”

“Monaca hasn’t gone after us in a while,” Komaru countered, “and there aren’t any Monokumas or kids around.” 

“The fact that nobody is around makes it feel _more_ like a trap.” She crossed her arms and stared at the ground, the cracked concrete bone-dry under her feet. It hadn’t rained in far too long. 

“Look, even if it _is_ a trap, then shouldn’t we definitely check it out, before anyone else gets caught?” Komaru hoisted up her megaphone and flashed her a grin. “We’ll be fine, Toko. Promise!” 

Toko sighed and shook her head. “Fine.  
Fine! If we die, this is all your fault.”

“Okay, okay.” 

They cautiously made their way down the street, nearly back-to-back as they watched for any sign of danger. But for all intents and purposes, they appeared to be alone on the day-bright street. 

The marquee was cracked, letters missing from the sign. A thoroughly desecrated poster told them the last show had been _Hamlet_. The actor (who had been gifted a mustache, a dick in his mouth, and and several more to go around, mournfully held Yorik’s skull (which now had a party hat.). Clearly the work of a child.

As was most destruction in Towa.

There was a massive hole in the roof. Toko and Komaru stuck close as they went from the bright street to the dark lobby, richly appointed in dark oak and checkerboard floors, the carpet running around the ticketbooth to the main theater. The door was ever-so-slightly ajar, a hint of stage lights peeking through.

“Someone’s d-definitely in there.”

But all was silent beyond the door. Komaru adjusted her grip on her megaphone and squared her shoulders, huffing a breath. “Then we’ll just have to meet them head-on!”

With a rousing cry, she kicked the door open. The sound slammed and echoed in the massive space, rows upon rows of empty chairs audience to her actions. Rows of chairs, and a single man on the ruined stage. 

He lounged on a throne, a leg slung over the arm of the chair and a fist propping up his face. Logically, it had to be a set piece, but he made it as convincing as the real thing. The same could be said of the crown that hung askew on his head. The glass diamonds and rubies and gold-foiled metal could passed as the most precious item in the world, for the ease and elegance with which he wore it.

He was outfitted with appropriate attire for his position—an immaculate suit and tie. His shoes were polished, his jacket only creased where he bent. His hair fell with wild abandon, over his face and shoulders, pooling at his feet. Unblinking, bloody eyes stared them down across the room. Dissecting them.

A king, receiving his subjects. 

Toko scrabbled for Komaru’s arm, but she found it almost impossible to tear her gaze away from him. 

“Komaru.” She blinked and turned around—her breath caught in her throat. Toko was _trembling_ and white as a sheet, eyes wild with fear. “We n-need to go. _Now,_ while he lets us.”

“What? Why? Who is he—“ Toko pulled her away, sprinting for the door as fast as she could. Komaru had no choice but to follow.

And yet...she looked back at him, the uncomfortable eye contact stopping her in her tracks. He didn’t move, but the room was drafty (a side effect of having a massive hole in the ceiling), causing his hair to gently shift and ripple.

His voice was low, but the sound carried along the theater. 

“How predictable.”

Komaru had yet to see him blink. He hadn’t moved at all—only the breeze jostling his clothes. He may very well have been his own set piece. 

“Komaru, come _on_ , you don’t get it, he will kill us _both_ ,” Toko hissed, tugging on her arm. But she was transfixed.

He did move, then, lifting up his head and placing his arm in his lap. “Do you truly think so, Toko Fukawa? Would you place me on the level of my...associates?” The slightest bit of distaste colored his last words.

She shoved up her glasses, hiding a tremble. “Come on.” It wasn’t a plea, it was an order. 

His eyes settled on her. Even from across the room, she could see the cold observation in his eyes.

She let Toko pull her away, and they sprinted all the way home.


	2. second encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Komaru does what she really ought not to do and returns to the theater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back, playhouse fans. today i offer some sexy, sexy kamukoma. also, this chapter is dedicated to @shuu.bii on instagram, who drew some really cool fanart for this!!! go check them out!

The door was just as they had left it--standing wide open. Komaru couldn’t explain  _ why  _ she had come back--it was a stupid move, on all accounts. They’d sprinted home, Toko had explained everything in a wild-eyed panic, making Komaru promise to  _ not go back there.  _ They’d called Makoto once Toko had calmed down enough. 

She’d never seen him so pale. 

They had sat in front of the computer, Komaru’s stomach curdling when she noticed that his hands were shaking, wherever he was. 

“I’m on my way over. I’ll get to Towa as soon as I can--especially if there are two Remnants there. Who knows, there could be more hiding out.”

“Doubt it. Everyone else is more s-showy. They’d make themselves k-known.” She didn’t sound very confident in her answer. But more than anything, Komaru was simply confused. They had survived  _ way  _ more than just one guy in a crown. She and Toko had killed countless Monokumas, taken down robots two, three times their size. 

She didn’t doubt that someone who scared Makoto and Toko so badly was dangerous, and she was definitely nervous, and this was  _ most definitely  _ a bad idea, but she still had grabbed the megaphone and walked back to the theater. It was almost dawn by now--she couldn’t talk for long if she wanted to keep her excursion secret. It wasn’t like she wanted to break their trust--she didn’t, at all. It  _ sucked  _ to have to go behind their backs. She didn’t  _ want  _ to actually do this. But she  _ had  _ to know what was up. 

The theater seemed a whole lot bigger, now that she was here alone. The open doors felt a lot more threatening, the closed ones seemed twice as confining. As if they were forcing her along one path--back to the stage. Everything looked as if nothing had been disturbed since she and Toko had fled--for one small thing.

There were voices coming from the theater. They were too low to be understood and comprehended, but Komaru felt her blood freeze over. This was a mistake, this was  _ such  _ a mistake, if she ran now, she could make it before they--

Then the words were clear as day. 

“Come in, Komaru Naegi.” 

She gulped, beginning to feel faint. There really was no going back, not now. She’d screwed herself over, and now they knew she was here. (She was unsure of who exactly she’d stumbled upon. His name was Izuru Kamukura, that much she knew, but from the information she’d had drilled into her head, he was solitary.)

He was solitary, and had previously expressed a specific kind of hostility towards Makoto that not even the other Remnants could match. It wasn’t...violent, she didn’t think? But they had drilled it into her head over and over and over again that he was the most dangerous person Toko and Komaru could have possibly come across. 

And she’d just walked back right into his lair. 

She  _ could  _ run, but they knew she was here. Kamukura and whoever else could chase her down, go to where she was sleeping. That would put everyone in danger. No, she’d face him and escape some other way. She gripped the megaphone so tight that her knuckles went white, and walked in.

There were two people, now. Kamukura, still lazily reclining in his throne, slumped into it with an insufferable sort of unflappable elegance. His nonchalance was scarier when she knew so much more about him. And lazing contentedly between his knees, his hair being ruffled mindlessly by Kamukura’s hand, was…

_ “You?” _

Servant raised a mittened hand in greeting. “Ah, Miss Naegi! How wonderful of you to drop by.” Pleasant, cheerful, and good-mannered. As he often was. “It has been a while since we’ve spoken, hasn’t it?” 

Kamukura just stared. There was a look in his eyes that almost felt possessive. Something in her told her that if she said the wrong thing, this wouldn’t end well.

But Servant continued talking, acting completely unaware of or simply unfazed by the other. “So what brings you here now? After all, you ran off in such a hurry earlier…”

She felt frozen into place. Her hands were glued around the megaphone--not like it would do anything. These were flesh-and-blood  _ people.  _ At least, they appeared to be people. Perhaps they were just excellent at acting. The chain of his collar was held firmly in Kamukura’s free hand. And yet, Servant seemed perfectly content with the knowledge that he was effectively leashed. 

There was blood on their hands. 

Komaru opened her mouth, but no sound wanted to come out. This was awful, this was  _ wrong,  _ she never should have come. But there was no use in repeating it, was there? She’d do it anyway, it was all she could think about. 

Kamukura exhaled. It wasn’t a sigh, or a gasp, but something more... _ off  _ than that. Something more purposeful. His head dipped to the side, the move purely predatory. The chain clanked as his arm lowered. He leaned forward just slightly, his hand gripping Servant’s hair more tightly and his hair falling over the other in an inky pour.

“I was correct, then. You came back alone.” 

She was vaguely aware that she was trembling. His eyes flashed, and he leaned back, pulling Servant along with him. He laid his head back against Kamukura’s thigh, smiling sleepily as he, for lack of a better word, was petted by the other. He left smears of pink. 

“There is no need to be afraid of us. His plans, concerning you, at least, have reached their conclusion. I am here to simply observe. I do  _ hope--” _ He almost imperceptibly sighed. “--that you do not disappoint me again.”

_ Again?  _ But--

“You just got here. You’ve only met me once.”

“Be patient with her, sir,” Servant mumbled to him. “She can be a little slow on the uptake.”

_ “Hey!” _

He just glanced knowingly up at Kamukura, then back at her. She shook her head and squared her shoulders, regaining her bearings. She had dealt with Servant before. So far, Kamukura didn’t seem like he was out for blood. (He was still terrifying, but he hadn’t even gotten up. She’d probably be fine, right?) Yeah, she’d be just fine! 

“Does anyone want to tell me what’s going on here?” she demanded, stomping her foot. 

“You interrupted us,” Kamukura said plainly. “You more owe us an explanation than the other way around.” His hand combed through Servant’s hair, smoothing it back over and over. (They had said Kamukura’s whole thing was that he was bored, all the time. He was always supposed to be seeking something new, that wouldn’t disappoint him. And yet, he repeated this action, over and over. As if it comforted him. If someone like him could find comfort, anyway.) “Why don’t you tell  _ me  _ why you came back? I would like to see if I was correct.”

“I...uh...well…” she visibly deflated, taking a step back. 

“No. Come here. If you want to intrude--

“Izuru?”

“Do not interrupt me, Komaeda. If you want to intrude, make yourself at home. Don’t feel as if you have to leave without even stating your business.” 

She didn’t want to come any closer. This felt like a trap from every possible angle. She was a fly and he was a spider, ensnaring her in a web of velvet-upholstered seats that would collapse underneath her the second she sat down. And yet, he had issued an order. There was no way around it, no twisting his words into an invitation to leave. The door was open behind her; it was a straight shot to the street. She could run, and she doubted she’d be chased at this point. If either of them wanted her dead, they probably would have already attacked. Right?   
  


She took one step forward, then another. Treacherous feet pulled her forward, until she was at the foot of the stage. They both stared down at her, grey-green and bright, siren red gazes dissecting her. It was like she was a tumor, something to be excised, and they were the surgeons to take it out. 

If all else, Servant looked almost sleepy. Utterly content with where he was, at someone else’s feet. 

Kamukura didn’t seem very content at all. Up close, his cloak of utter perfection seemed to be more paralyzing than awe-inspiring. He was breathing, his chest rose and fell, but that was the only thing that seemed to differentiate him from a machine. 

“Now.” His voice was flat, bored. Like he would rather be anywhere else. “Tell me why you came back, when you fled such a short time ago.” There was blood all over Servant upon closer inspection--it was splattered across his skin and clothes. It was even dabbed at the corners of his mouth. Honestly, Komaru felt a little sick.

But Kamukura, in an even more concerning way, only had blood on the palms of his hands. She was sure it wasn’t there before; she would have noticed if he was bloody the first time. (Would she, if it had only been his palms? Truly?)

“I…” Her voice wouldn’t stop wavering. “I needed to know. If everything they kept saying was true about you.”

“So you came to me, instead of blindly believing what you were told. I am sure your brother would love to know that you called on me of your own volition.”

She bristled at the mention. “This has nothing to do with Makoto!” 

“Good. Tell me what it is about, then.”

“Shouldn’t you know that already?”

Servant, uncharacteristically quiet, just took in the scene. The two of them looked like painted sculpture, porcelain and ceramic splashed with pink paint. As if they were a matching set. 

There was a lead pipe next to the throne. It had drying bloodstains on it. Komaru didn’t want to know what was hiding behind the heavy sets of curtains, what (or who) had been beaten to hell and back with it. 

“I prefer to have my hypotheses confirmed.” 

She gritted her teeth and scowled at him, at his insufferably cool and collected nature. He seemed completely unbothered. Bored. She could point a gun at him and he probably would tell her she had loaded it with blanks. 

“I don’t know,” she grumbled. “Something is, like, weird about you. You’re like what everyone says you’re like, but you’re also, like….not.”

“That is one way to put it.” He took another breath, rising from his chair. Her gut iced over as he and Servant stood--Kamukura was actually shorter than him, just by a little bit. But his hand still held the chain. “Come. Walk with us. I will ensure you make it home safely.”

“But--”

“You do not have to come.”

“Nothing will attack you when you’re with us!” Servant chimed in brightly. “And even if they do, he’ll have it dealt with before you even notice! Don’t you worry about a thing. Izuru would never do anything as dirty as lure you away to attack you. If he wanted you dead, you would have been killed a long time ago!” 

That wasn’t very reassuring. But, still. “Why on earth take me home? Wouldn’t Monaca--”

“Monaca Towa has no control or influence over me. And Komaeda answers to me before he answers to her.” 

“Komaeda?”

“Did you actually think his name was Servant?” There was something in his voice now--an undercut of exasperation. “If you want to come, we are leaving now.” 

They began to walk towards the end of the stage, a door to the left seeming to be their destination. (Kamukura picked up the lead pipe, holding it in his free hand. This was a bad idea. This was  _ such  _ a bad idea.) Against her better judgement, she scrambled to climb up the stage and began to follow. Sure, this made it far more likely that she’d get caught, but she’d also come here alone. It was either take a dangerous route by herself, or take a safe route with dangerous people. 

“I’m going to regret this,” she mumbled, and walked out the door behind them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gonna be real, i have no update schedule for this one. it'll get an update when inspiration hits, mostly, lol. but this is probably my favorite thing i'm producing at the moment, so it will be updated! lots of love!! wear your masks, and if you're going back to in-person school (like me), make sure you take every possible precaution! 
> 
> lots of love, fen <3


	3. a night (morning) out on the town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the walk back home is colder than it should be, for a summer morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drop in the comments how many seagulls you think you'd be able to fight off before you would be defeated. I'd probably make it to, like, seven.

Despite the summer month, a bit of a chill held in the air as they walked outside. Gooseflesh raised on Komaru’s arms, her arms instinctively wrapping around her to warm herself up. A more gentlemanly pair might have offered a coat, but Kamukura seemingly couldn’t care less and Komaru would drop dead before taking something from Servant. (Komaeda? Should she even call him that?) All things considered, neither of them seemed all too concerned about her. Kamukura had settled into complete silence. Not even his steps echoed as they walked. His clothes were far too nice for rough terrain like this, pressed and somehow ironed. His shoes were still shiny and unscuffed. 

Something about it ticked her off. She and Servant certainly looked like they belonged in their environment, clothes faded and dirty. They fit the color scheme, everything faintly red-tinted or brown or grey. He was a shadow moving among smudges. He didn’t really...belong to this environment. As if that wasn’t obvious or something. Nobody  _ belonged  _ here anymore, certainly not three adults.

They stepped over broken concrete and tastefully ignored corpses on the street corners, Kamukura still holding Servant’s chain and leading him along. He didn’t pull him, seeming more as if he just trusted him to follow where he was led. From what she knew of Servant, it seemed he was ready and willing to be treated like garbage at any time. But Kamukura wasn’t much like that; at least, he wasn’t showing it. His hand was firm, yes, but not cruel. (Not yet, anyway. Someone who killed 13 people in one gory murder spree  _ had  _ to be at least a little cruel.)

They all were silent. There wasn’t much to say, so they traveled in a tense quiet. They knew where she was living—that was scary. Who knew  _ how  _ they had figured it out (heck, who knew how long Kamukura had even  _ been  _ here), who knew how long they had known? 

A slender hand beckoned her forward. “Don’t get too far behind, Miss Komaru! If you don’t stay close, you’ll be attacked!” His voice had a singsong lilt to it, the lightness of his tone not matching the seriousness of his words. She was confident she could handle herself by this point, but she quickened her pace and fell into step next to Servant, keeping him at arm’s length. 

Kamukura had yet to look back at either of them. 

“Don’t be so shy, now. I think we’re beyond such pleasantries, aren’t we?” Servant’s gaze slid to her, the sharp, steely light in his eyes making her want to further step away. “As he said, I’ve long been done with you. There’s no need to be so cautious.”

“Sorry for being a little wary. It’s not like you blackmailed my friend or anything,” she scowled, rubbing the goosebumps on her arms. 

“I think I got my due for that, don’t you?” He gestured to his legs, the rips in his jeans where Genocide Jack had torn him open. There was still dried blood on his pants, but that could have been from any other time, especially considering how it decorated him now. Despite his talk, his pace didn’t slow. He followed diligently, scaling rock and broken concrete like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t leashed. Or, more like he was used to this. “Even if they are all healed up now, they still bother me sometimes, you know,” he chuckled. “She certainly made sure I felt them.”

She spared a glance down to the rips in his jeans--raised scarring poked through the tears in the fabric. Looking at them made her a little uneasy, even now. It had been over two months since the whole nasty affair had ended, but she would be an idiot to give even a modicum of trust to him. He and the other Warriors of Hope had kept their distance, Toko and Komaru making amends with the four but getting absolute radio silence from Monaca and Servant--to both. Until fairly recently, she wasn’t even sure that Servant had even survived, much less been active. But who knew if this allegiance was new, or--well, it didn’t  _ seem  _ new. For Kamukura’s silence and Servant’s chattiness, they kept an easy and practiced rhythm. Where he was led, he went happily. 

Though he hadn’t looked back or made any indication that he was so much aware that they existed, Komaru knew instinctively that he was listening. He knew everything that was going on around him--his posture was perfect and he was alert. As they had promised, nothing attacked them. Monokumas kept a safe distance--they saw Servant and turned around, waddled off, claws retracting. She was on her guard, of course, barely even blinking to stay more aware of the world around her. Just because they stayed away for now didn’t mean it would stay like that. For all she knew, this could be a trap. In all honesty, it probably was. (Then why was she going along with this? Was her curiosity  _ that _ strong?)

Apparently, it was.

“You must not be in the mood to talk. Is it the cold?”

She glared. “Not all of us are dressed for the weather.”

“Well, that isn’t exactly  _ my _ problem, is it?” He just grinned at her, and there was an undeniable bit of satisfaction to the smirk. His pace quickened, until he was nearly side-by-side with Kamukura. He leaned in, whispering something under the breeze. The movement was so slight she thought she may have imagined it, but Kamukura nodded. He stopped, the wind rustling his hair and suit jacket.

He spoke again, his voice low and disinterested. “Your apartment is the next street over. We leave you here.” 

“Why?”

For the first time on the whole walk, he looked at her. “Why did I take you home?”

“Well, yeah.” She adjusted her grip on the megaphone. The lead pipe still sat unused in his hand. “Why let me back in? Why make sure I get home safely? Don’t you hate my brother?”

His expression didn’t so much as shift. It felt like he was dissecting her, coolly placing her into a neat little box where she belonged. Even though he was a few feet away, she felt like she was under his microscope. He was peeling her layers away, peering at what lay underneath, poking and prodding to figure out what made her tick. 

“Your brother has little to do with my opinion of you. You are more useful alive. Dull as you  _ and  _ he are to me, you keep this town on edge. Your presence makes it interesting here. There has been a sense of conflict here ever since you arrived.” 

“That’s a  _ stupid  _ reason!” She was flushed, embarrassed and angry. It was honestly incredible, how someone so perfectly neutral could be so inflammatory. “I’m not  _ dull.”  _

“Would you have preferred I killed you?”

“No, but--”

“Then stop complaining,” he said shortly. “Do try not to die on the way back.”

There were no more words. He walked off, taking Servant along with him. She looked up and found he was right--her apartment building really was only a street over. She could go home now, having learned the important piece of information that Servant (Komaeda. She still couldn’t wrap her head around the name.) and Kamukura were  _ very  _ closely connected in some way she couldn’t comfortably place. She watched them walk off, something in her gut churning as they rounded the corner. Something about this felt incomplete--like she wasn’t done with them. 

Even if they had decided it. Today had been a day of bad decisions, what was one more? After all, she’d pushed her luck twice and they hadn’t so much as attacked her. She shook her head and began to silently follow where they had gone. 

Before long, she had caught up, trailing the street a good few feet behind them. She wouldn’t be able to hear much of their conversation nor be protected by Servant’s immunity to the Monokumas, but she’d be able to find out more. Immediately she noticed things had changed.

Kamukura no longer held Servant’s leash. They walked, instead, side-by-side. They were speaking, their voices not particularly loud but carrying on the cool morning air.

“...know I dislike pulling you along on that thing. It is undignified of us both.”

“You know I deserve nothing of what you give me. You are far too kind, far too often. I hate to inconvenience you so, I know I’m deeply unworthy of it—“

“Hush,” Kamukura said (but not unkindly. Certainly not kindly, but it was the gentlest she’d seen from him.), pressing a slim finger over the other’s lips. “There is necessity to it, yes. But I do not enjoy it, Nagito.”

_ Nagito. Nagito Komaeda.  _

Finally, a full name for the man that had caused so much. She still couldn’t find it in herself to connect the name to the face.  _ Nagito Komaeda  _ was not the man who blackmailed Toko and softly manipulated the world around him to his benefit, even under the literal chains of servitude.  _ Nagito Komaeda  _ didn’t wear children’s scribblings as casually as women wore lipstick, didn’t walk around collared as if it was nothing more than a necklace. At least, she didn’t think so. She didn’t know  _ Nagito Komaeda.  _ She knew  _ Servant.  _ In her world,  _ Nagito Komaeda  _ didn’t exist.

And yet, whoever he was, Servant or Nagito, he took Kamukura’s hand in his uncovered one, pulling it down ever so gently, lacing their fingers together. “It’s alright, Izuru. I would never ask you to do something you weren’t capable of. Of course, there’s nothing you aren’t capable of!” He laughed again, but it seemed more genuine this time. A lot of this seemed more genuine than what they had publicly displayed. This seeming equality between them felt legitimately authentic; perhaps the subservience was performative. Well, on some level it  _ had  _ to be, for them to act so gently now, but what of it was real service and what was this strange affection? 

_ Monaca Towa has no control or influence over me. And Komaeda answers to me before he answers to her. _

She certainly didn’t see the necessity of the public power imbalance. It was simply uncomfortable--for everyone, it seemed. Even them. Servant reached up and tucked a strand of Kamukura’s hair behind his ear, murmuring something just too low to be audible. She didn’t dare come any closer to eavesdrop. Even being this close was dangerous. Kamukura probably already knew she was there, or would soon if she wasn’t careful. He didn’t seem like the type to not realize he was being followed. Neither was Servant, for that matter, but what she knew of them both pointed well to Kamukura being the one to notice her. 

She’d been given two chances now, to walk away safely. And yet, she’d chosen to follow them both times. She couldn’t really explain  _ why  _ she kept getting tugged in, and she  _ knew  _ to keep coming back was frankly idiotic, but she just  _ needed to know.  _ Needed to know what, exactly?

Well, some things weren’t adding up. The cruelty of the actions attributed to Kamukura didn’t match up to what she’d seen. He didn’t seem like someone who would kill in cold blood. Now, she didn’t know him, not really, and there was no doubt in her mind that he  _ had  _ ended a life with his own bare hands and maybe even more than once, but to kill without legitimate reason seemed to be absolutely unthinkable. He just...Komaru sighed at herself. He seemed like he did  _ everything  _ for a reason. Including escorting her home. 

“Come on. Let’s go back. We have a little more time before Monaca expects me. You need to sleep.”

“I will be fine.” But they continued walking anyway, Servant still holding his hand and Kamukura not pulling away. Like they were an actual couple, or something. She really didn’t know what to think, or what she was doing. 

“You got hurt last night. You aren’t fine.” 

“It was a shallow cut.”

“You didn’t clean it. I know you didn’t.”

Kamukura’s head tilted to the side. “And?”   
  


“You shouldn’t give yourself to infection simply because you’re  _ bored,  _ Izuru.” His voice softened, and Komaru had to fight to hear him. She inched just a bit closer. 

Too close.

Kamukura’s eyes locked on hers. 

Her heart stopped--there was no mercy there, not even boredom this time. Not even irritation. Something like anger. It was faint and flickering,so minute that perhaps even he didn’t register it, but there it remained and froze her into place. She feared for the person who ever brought him to legitimate rage, if such a thing was possible. 

“I thought I told you to  _ go home.”  _ Servant stayed where he was, shaking his head in disappointment, sighing lightly. But Kamukura walked over, leveled the reddest eyes she’d ever seen directly on her. “I do not like to repeat myself. Nor do I like my privacy violated.”

She jumped back when his hand reached out for her. He exhaled once again, his not-quite-sigh putting the fear of God back into her like few things had recently. His hand retracted, and he turned away, the tension never leaving his shoulders. 

_ “Go.  _ I will not be so generous a third time.” 

She bolted. Ran until her lungs bled, all the way back to her apartment room--or at least, she would have, had Toko not been standing outside, the look of murder in her eyes almost as terrifying as Kamukura’s had been. 

  
“Where the  _ hell  _ have you been?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for all the support on this story!!! this is my favorite thing i've made in a while tbh
> 
> wash ur face if you haven't! drink some water! wear ur mask! i love all of you so much!   
> \- fen <3


	4. chaise lounge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuru and Komaeda head home.

Infection had actually been his plan all along. The cut stung at his side, deeper than he had implied it was. Like everything in this town, the knife had been dirty. He gave himself about a week before he collapsed, at least another day for it to form and manifest. That is, if he had his way. The way Komaeda looked at him told him it would probably end up otherwise. 

“Ah, as I was saying, before we got interrupted,” Komaeda started again. “Please let me see that wound when we get back. I don’t want you to get sick. Besides...don’t you hate being ill?” Hate was an emotion left unfelt by Izuru, or so he presumed, but the idea of falling to sickness was unthinkable and far from desirable.

Precisely why he would once more pursue it. 

“It is something to do.” Or rather, have done to him. It would be a challenge of him, his body against himself. He hadn’t had anything even remotely resembling a fair fight in far too long. Since Junko had died, actually. He only was left with far inferior substitutes, fellow playthings of hers. They all submitted to him now, some more begrudgingly than others. Kuzuryu himself had said it, the last time they had all been together.

_“We all fucking hate you, you know. Well, not all of us. The one’s you’ve fucked don’t hate you--”_

_“You’re free to add to that count.” They sat across the table, the sounds of Mioda tormenting Hanamura with her new “songs” making the walls shake. At the very least, nobody would hear them speaking._

_“Eat shit. I’m not drunk enough for you right now.” Izuru filed that away. “Besides, that isn’t the damn point I’m trying to make. We’re only at your beck and call because we’d be ears deep in shit if you weren’t there. She’s dead; her attack dog is all we’ve got.”_

_“We’re all her pets, Kuzuryu. Not just me.”_

_He sighed and took a swig of what could have been water or alcohol. Maybe even vinegar, if he was feeling particularly spiteful that day. God knew that they all had seen him drink worse. The walls kept on rattling. “Yeah, I know.”_

_“You don’t sound particularly pleased with it.”_

_They locked eyes, the one he had ripped from Junko’s face staring at him, piercingly bright. Little bits of her stayed in all of them, physical and mental. An eye for an eye made the whole world blind, and Kuzuryu was well on his way to ripping out the world’s vision to replace it with hers, modeled with his own bend of reality. Beyond it all, none of them saw clearly._

_“It sucks, but we’re dead without you.”_

Nobody to stand on even ground with--aside from Komaeda. Even the other Remnants admitted he was unrivaled by them (however, they all agreed to see Komaeda as the least of them. Funny, that.). But Komaeda didn’t fight, so much as challenge. Didn’t make conflict with him so much as took care of him. There were no fair fights, no fights at all. Kuzuryu was the last real challenge he’d faced, and it had ended as it always did. On the roof of some forgotten building, alone. Until Komaeda found him, took him with him to Towa once and for all. 

He had expected more from Komaru Naegi. (His side was steadily going from stinging to throbbing as he walked back with Komaeda, but he ignored it and corrected his pace.) She had had such potential, wasted on such neutrality. Nothing had changed, not really. The children were free but death still ran rampant. So, really, Towa had just become like everywhere else. Even their presence made the city more like the rest of the world, a Remnant or a pair to a city. 

But they were getting snapped up now, taken and held by Future Foundation. They weren’t dead--since Makoto Naegi was leading the captures. 

Komaru and Makoto. Two sides of the same, boring coin. And yet...she had shown potential. Kept coming back when she shouldn’t have. He wouldn’t be surprised if he turned around and she was there again. 

(However, the fading sound of what was surely Toko Fukawa bellowing at her companion told him that she wasn’t going to follow him again--at least not today.) They would meet again. She’d come back to the theater eventually. He was sure of it. 

They had arrived by now, walking up the steps and through sets of stairs to what was once a dressing room and now served as the place he slept. 

“Let me see that cut.”

“No.” His voice was short and final. He just wanted to go sleep and let nature run its course, see if he’d be disappointed yet again. He was _bored._ Things had returned to how they normally were, far too quickly. The last thing he had, well, _done,_ was dispose of that monster in a coat, and that had been over a month ago. 

He heard murmurings of the adults, asking where Haiji had disappeared to when he listened unseen. They would probably never find his body, stuffed in a forgotten pipe deep in the sewers he had lorded over. A death befitting him. (It had taken him three baths to fully get all the blood off, and he’d nearly been forced to discard the shirt he had been wearing.) There was no passion or pride in most everything Izuru did, but there had been a glint of satisfaction in his eyes when he finished. It would only be fitting that he had done it with his bare hands.

Izuru was by definition a perfect...something. (Man? Perhaps. He wasn’t all too concerned with the notion. It was the binary that had been assigned to him, so he took it. Even being human was a different conundrum, one that frustrated him to absolutely no end, since it seemed to be the one question he had _no_ answer to. Or, maybe he simply disliked that more and more the answer seemed to be no.) But being _perfect_ didn’t mean he adhered to any moral standard of _good._

Haiji had been unrecognizable when he was done, to put it lightly. To say that Izuru liked Monaca would be false, but she was a child. A child. And that was the lesser of what he had done. 

“Izuru, please,” Komaeda said, knocking him out of his thoughts. “Hope can’t get sick again. I can’t take ca--”  
  


“I do not want to be cared for. Not like that. Not again.”

He crossed his arms, huffing a breath and looking away. “Then I don’t understand why you’re trying to get sick. Are you trying to play with death again? Trying to see how far you can push yourself before you don’t get up?”

Occasionally, Komaeda could see right through him. This was one of those times. And even though his mind was swirling and he knew his eyes were dead, he undid his tie, shed his jacket, and pulled up his shirt, leaning back on the couch to keep it from brushing on the cushions. There were bloodstains on his shirt, ugly and dried up.

It was no small thing like he had said it was. The cut was big and ugly, the gift of a hunting knife. The scabs would tear if he moved too suddenly, and as Komaeda had noted, he had left it unwashed. Disgusting and base behavior, but anything would do to have a real _challenge._

Junko’s AI still tormented him, tucked into a secret pocket. He’d smashed in the bear heads and she’d still somehow managed to come out on top. She was dead and he was still following her orders. Someday soon, he would no longer know Komaeda. Someone else would wake up and they’d be strangers. The thought was more unsettling than he’d ever admit it was.

“You let yourself get hit. Nobody could land a blow like this unless you let them.” There was something sad in his voice--it grew smaller with every passing word until it was barely above a whisper. “Why are you doing this, Izuru?” 

“I don’t have an answer for you, Komaeda, beyond boredom,” he said truthfully. “I am tired of this. Everything has become static once more.”

“And this is your answer? Well--I shouldn’t argue, you’re always right, after all--”  
  


“I know this is the wrong thing to do.”

He paused for a moment before he moved again, standing up and grabbing a beaten-up carton of hydrogen peroxide and the cleanest rag they had. That was to say, it wasn’t all that clean. But it had been wrung out in boiled water and that was the best they could manage. Soap was hard to come by, a precious resource used carefully and likely a bit too sparingly. Neither of them saw it as an ideal situation. Nothing about anything was ideal (such was the nature of despair), so to even comment on it seemed rather inane. 

The peroxide stung and fizzed as Komaeda slowly and methodically cleaned the wound. Izuru didn’t so much as flinch. Neither of them ever had, not when it came to pain like this. 

“I don’t like to question you, Izuru.”

“You are allowed to. Do not wait on my permission for something as simple as a question.” He didn’t need permission for anything. He could have asked or demanded anything and Izuru would give it without question. He had told him as such, but some things even he couldn’t get Komaeda to budge on. So he indulged his servant role, played his own part. 

He blinked slowly, sighed deeply. “I’m getting worried for you. You’ve become more and more erratic…something is going to happen soon, isn’t it?”

The minutes-long silence was only broken by the peroxide.

“You’re bored. I know you’re bored, love. But something is about to change. Is that why you’re trying to get yourself sick?”

His grip tightened on the edge of the couch. The grey rag was rapidly turning rust-colored. “Are you trying to get out of it?”  
  


The flash drive felt like it was made of lead. He couldn’t tell Komaeda. Nobody would know. Nobody _could_ know. Komaeda had moved on, cutting a strip of gauze. “Could you please pull your shirt up just a little more?” He inhaled deeply and complied, looking away from the mirror to not see the cleaned wound. He leaned back on the couch then, Komaeda settling on the floor beside him. His hand found its way down, settling into his hair. It was habitual by now, the soft texture a constant he was never tired of, perhaps even comforted by. The other sighed and leaned into it, his own exhaustion beginning to show.

“I should really head back…”

“Monaca knows you’re with me. She will not punish you for being late.”  
  


Izuru closed his eyes then, turning to his side so the cut would stay away from other surfaces. He’d had yet to pull his shirt back down or even so much as remove his shoes. The door was locked and the windows were reinforced with what they had. 

“You’re tired, Izuru. Sleep.”

“What do you think of Komaru Naegi?” Izuru asked then instead, pushing his shoes off and discarding them to the floor. “You spent far more time observing her closely than I have.”

Komaeda shifted, his movements restless as Izuru ran his hand through his hair. 

“She’s like her brother, in that she’s relentlessly cheerful. The children did seem to like her, even as they went after her. Curious, too, but no doubt you knew that already.”

“She was bold to keep following us like that.”

“I don’t doubt she’ll return again eventually. She always had this knack for walking headfirst into trouble--but I have no complaints for it. She makes it more interesting around here, like you said.”

He opened his mouth and found he had little more to say, then closed it again. His thoughts on her were as a whole undecided for now--he’d cast judgement after they met again. It was inevitable. However, prolonging contact with her could easily set him as an even larger target in Naegi’s sights. His sickly version of compassion would only serve to infect deeper if he stayed close to Komaru. And yet, as boring as she seemed and with as many drawbacks as there were, he found himself interested by her and her actions.

“Go back to Monaca, Komaeda. I will see you soon.”

He nodded and stood, leaning down and pressing a hesitant kiss to Izuru’s temple. “Sleep well. Please...keep your wounds clean.”

There was a blanket pulled over him before Komaeda left, the locking clicking shut behind him. It was an old and worn thing, but it was warm and heavy, something to make sure he stayed where he was. Nobody could come and move him without him realizing. (An old, irrational precautionary measure that served no true purpose. But there had been a time when it _was_ a rational concern, to be moved in his sleep. Old habits persisted, even for him.)

The hair clip in his pocket jabbed into his side. He strained and pulled it out, turning it over in his fingers. If he didn’t keep himself perfectly present, he could easily imagine it bloody and slick again. His hands would start to shake like the first time, and yet he still didn’t know why his gut always dropped when this happened. 

And yet, it was one of the only things he couldn’t part with. It was tucked back in its proper place, angled in such a way that it wouldn’t prod at him.

“Perhaps you would have the answers to all my questions,” he murmured as he shut his eyes once more. “Whoever you were.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't updated this in a little bit sorry lol but uh yeah idk if it's actually good or not but i felt like establishing that haiji died terribly because he deserves it <3 
> 
> you are loved. wash your hands and face, find a new poem to read today. Watch the sun rise or set. make this a good day! -fen <3


	5. winter break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meeting #3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD HI SORRY ITS BEEN 5 MONTHS HOLY SHIT. i meant to like kinda update this more and then. i started writing out for blood and that took over my life until like 4 days ago. then i tried to take a break from writing and it didnt work. it lasted 3 days. but anywayyy hiiiiiiii this is back now but i think it's going to take a different, less linear direction than i initially meant for this piece BUT i think itll work better. im definitely kind of experimenting here, sorry if it sucks. but yes hi hello iam back on my kamukura bullshit. missed him so bad <3

They don’t meet again for months. Izuru knows down to the microsecond how long the time is, but Komaru certainly doesn’t. She thought she saw glimpses of Komaeda as she walked around town, the clank of chain links faint in her ears or she would catch flashes of white hair just out of her line of sight. Never enough to prove that he was there, but she was sure that despite his promises he was watching. 

That meant Kamukura had to be watching, too. But he’d be far more silent about it, forever melting into the shadows. It didn’t scare her as much as it probably should have that he was probably keeping tabs on her. He seemed like the kind of guy who kept tabs on everything.

Just out of curiosity, she’d asked the kids what they knew. 

Not much, apparently.

“Yeah, we never met him,” Masaru had said, laying upside down in a chair--his feet thrown over the top of it. “We knew Mr. Servant went out and was seeing someone when he wasn’t supposed to, but it’s not like any of us really cared to follow.”

Kotoko and Jataro agreed readily. “Yeah!” they said in unison. The girl spoke up first, grabbing a piece of Komaru’s hair and a bubblegum pink hairbrush. She brushed though any and all knots, happily talking on and on.

“We kinda knew he existed, you know? Big Sis Junko talked about him a lot! Lots of stories. But he never showed up. Mr. Servant knows him--I think he lives with him now or something.” 

Jataro nodded, laying down on the carpet of the apartment and staring at the light fixture. “Something like that...Big Sis liked him. A lot.”

  
  


Nagisa was quiet at the end of the couch, staring at the window, bunching up his knees to his chest and crossing his arms. 

“...I met him one time.”   
  


The room quieted, eyes falling to him. He pressed his lips together, frowning. “I saw Mr. Servant sneaking out one night. I was...still up. And so he took me with him.”

He took a blanket from the end of the couch, wrapping it around himself. “He’s kind of scary. But he’s not mean. At least, he wasn’t mean to me. Or Mr. Servant. He’s just...kind of quiet. And he watches everything you do.”

He fiddled with a button on his coat under the blanket. “But that’s all I know. He’s not as mean as the rest of Big Sis’s friends.”

“You guys met the other Remnants?”

“Sometimes. They don’t like Mr. Servant so they don’t come here very often. I don’t think they like Mr. Kamukura either. Even though he’s supposed to be in charge.” Kotoko was surprisingly gentle with her brush, finding knots Komaru had missed. “Some of them like us, though. I think they do, anyway.”

Jataro looked perfectly content from his space on the floor, his hair spread around him in a sandy halo. “The princess lady likes us. She...likes Kotoko the best, though. The guy with pink hair likes me a lot. I think...all of us have one of them who likes us best.”

“Something like that, yeah,” Nagisa agreed. “But...yeah. We don’t really know very much about Mr. Kamukura. Sorry.”

“It’s okay!” she reassured him, smiling from her space on the ottoman. It was lucky, really, that they’d found such a big apartment, and so close to where she and Toko lived. They could keep good tabs on the kids while giving them their freedom to live together and recover from what they had all been through. It was good. “I just...ran into him. I thought I’d ask if any of you knew anything, is all!”

He nodded. “Makes sense.”

So they didn’t know Kamukura, beyond Nagisa having a run-in with him. Maybe that was a good thing. His red eyes burned into her head when she went to bed at night. He was watching. He was...probably watching.

But she never saw him. Months of quiet, months of rebuilding the city. Nothing. 

Until, really, there wasn’t nothing.

It was winter by now. She went outside in pants and a coat and gloves, scavenged from an old department store. The houses were slowly rebuilding, neighborhoods were popping back up. Haiji Towa still was nowhere to be found. She couldn’t find it in herself to be upset about it. 

But not everything was fixed. That old playhouse and the streets around it stayed almost entirely abandoned. Toko pulled her away by the arm whenever they got near.

“No. I’m not going back in there.” Their breath clouded in the air and Toko’s glasses had fogged up. Every time they got close, they turned around and went home.

But Komaru couldn’t deny her curiosity. Was he still there? Was he still watching? Was he still sitting on his prop throne, almost as if he was waiting for her? She didn’t know. And as long as Toko was watching, she wasn’t going to be able to find out anything. She wanted to know, damn it! She wanted to know what was  _ up  _ with him--why he was like that, especially since it seemed like absolutely nobody had an answer. There was no information on him that wasn’t heavily redacted. And even what was available to her got kept out of her reach by Makoto.

“He hates me. I don’t want you to get near--I don’t want that to be taken out on you.” Fair enough, but hadn’t he himself said that Makoto was irrelevant to how he saw her? Or something? She didn’t really know. 

But she left one night and pulled her coat over a chunky sweater. 

It was a cold walk, her hands ungloved to use the hacking gun. They were frozen by the time she reached the streetlights that still lit up perfectly. The door creaked open, unlocked as always.

But there was no cool, measured voice to greet her when she stuck her head into the theater. No sheet of dark hair in the empty throne. No Komaeda, (Komaeda. She always had to remind herself that that was his name.) either. Empty. 

But something--mostly the hairs raising at the back of her neck--told her that she probably wasn’t alone. If she looked up to the balcony, she would probably see someone. (But he wasn’t going to say anything. If she came back, it was her prerogative to find him.)

A series of unwise meetings. Third time's the charm, right? If she met him here and now, maybe she’d finally get questions answered. 

_ Who are you, really? Why do you hate my brother? Why are you watching me? Are you even actually doing that? What’s going on? _

She really, truly didn’t know what all of this was about, why she kept coming back and back and back. But something just told her that something? Something about this wasn’t right. Things were being withheld and she just...wanted to know the truth. But  _ what truth?  _ God. Some things were just so  _ off  _ about Kamukura and the way he stared her down.

No footsteps sounded but her own through the dark theater. The lights were on on the stage, hot and brilliant. So if she was alone, she was newly alone. That was kind of good to know, probably. Maybe. 

Her hands were still cold and she gripped the hacking gun far more tightly. 

He’d walked her home. By all rights, he’d protected her. Why? What was going on?

“Are you even  _ here?!”  _ Her voice rang through the room, echoing off the ceiling and seats. “I just wanna talk to you!”

(A hand drummed against the railing of the balcony. Considering it. For a moment, then another.)

A familiar voice that felt too soft for who it belonged to floated down from somewhere. “Find the dressing rooms. I’ll be waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi babes thankz 4 reading im just gonna be a lot more causal here also idk when thisll get another updatw this is just a go witht the flow thing but it will get them i prommy this isnt gonna get abandoned for 5 months again....hopefully. i dony think this chap is very good tbj but its a bridg3 to the shit i actually wanna write. it gets better i promise. AN E WAY take ur meds drink some water brush your teeth i love you so much 
> 
> -fen <3


	6. dressing room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's smoke buildup on the walls of the dressing room, and komaru can't be sure how much of it kamukura is responsible for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i don't really know what i'm doing with this fic. i throw out words and they say things and then i put this up. its not great or anything but i feel like there's less pressure for it to be good if i'm just ,,, writing stuff like this. i'm vibing with it, regardless. sorry, this note doesn't make much sense. anyway my birthday was last week i'm 19 now wtf.....i really never know what to say when i update this. it's just its own strange little thing among my strange little things. i'm just glad you guys seem to like it. <3

Komaru really didn’t like being around people who don’t talk much--if it’s just her and them. And Kamukura doesn’t talk much. He’ll say something that feels like a riddle wrapped in a question and wait for her to fill the silence, interpret whatever the heck he meant. That’s sure what he’s done now, as he stared at her from across the room. 

She’d found her place at the vanity--it kind of lit up, still. Enough that if she wanted to mess with the scattered makeup on the desk, she’d probably have enough light. Not that she’d touch anything on the table. His eyes were zeroed in on her, following her every move. He sat down at a chair of his own, a leg crossed over the other. 

“What do you want, Naegi? You keep seeking me out.” 

She squinted at him, leaned forward on the stool. “You’re watching me. I know you’re watching me.”   
  


“I observe everything that happens here.” Servant was nowhere to be found. It was just him, his hair tied back out of his face. There was a huge scar on his forehead that ran across his temple before it disappeared into dark masses of hair. He was made of features that stuck out--but it stuck out even compared to everything else--a pale line that ran the length of his tan forehead. “Does that bother you?”   
  


“Well, I don’t  _ like  _ being watched. You should know why,” she scowled. Being stuck in the same apartment for a year had been enough of being watched for a lifetime. Being forced into that death game by kids had been enough of being watched for a lifetime. 

“It isn’t...personal.” His head tilted to the side. 

She crossed her arms and huffed, whatever fear she had melting under a skin of frustration. He hadn’t hurt her yet. She doubted he’d start now. There wasn’t any blood on his hands this time. The underside of his nails were clean and honestly? That irritated her. How did he stay clean, when the rest of them didn’t even have hot water? 

His suit jacket shifted as he moved. She could have sworn she heard a rattle from the pocket. 

“It not being personal doesn’t make it  _ weird.”  _

He waved a hand, vaguely gesturing at the window. “If it’s any comfort, I’m not watching you specifically. You and your friends just often involve yourself in anything remotely interesting that happens here. Rebuilding efforts are often led by you or people connected to you. It’s in my interest to keep up with what you do.”   
  


He stood then, opened up the window. He produced a lighter and a--

“You’re really going to smoke while I’m here?”

He flicks on the lighter. She didn’t really  _ mind  _ cigarette smoke anymore--there were much worse smells to be found. Hiroko smoked all the time. But Kamukura didn’t really seem like the kind of guy to smoke. He felt like the kind of guy who had far more expensive vices, if he had any at all. But no. He was lighting up a plain old crappy cigarette. (If she turned around, she’d see the half-empty whiskey bottle.) 

“Yes.” He took a drag and blew the smoke out the window, tapped the ash into a well-used tray. “That isn’t the point. You want something from me. Spit it out.” 

His suit was pressed perfectly. As far as she knew, there wasn’t a working laundromat in Towa yet. They’d only just begun to start fixing the running water in a few places. How he was so clean, she just couldn’t be sure. 

“I just…” she trailed off. What the heck  _ did  _ she want? It wasn’t as if there was a polite way to put it. “What  _ are  _ you?” 

“You’re certainly blunt.” He blew more smoke out the window. “But you’re not the first to ask.” 

She put her hands on her hips, leaned forward. “Well?”

“Ask your brother. I don’t doubt that his foundation has found my records by now.” 

“I’m asking  _ you.  _ Who the hell  _ are  _ you?  _ What  _ are you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “An experiment.” He didn’t say anything more. Komaru looked away, something slimy crawling over her insides. An experiment. That didn't bode well for the scar on his forehead. She had just assumed, hopefully, that it was just a regular medical procedure (what medical procedures went into the head, though?) Her breath caught. He noticed. There probably wasn’t much that he missed.

“Does that bother you?” 

“What does that mean?” she asked defensively, stepping back. “Why would it?”   
  


“I saw you staring at my forehead.” He set down his cigarette in the ashtray, let it smoke as he pulled off his jacket. It rattled again, like he had something in the pocket. He pulled up his sleeve, revealing another clean surgical scar on his forearm, stark and pale against his tan skin. “Does this bother you as well?” There could only be more, hidden under a suit.

She had a feeling that even his arm was more than most people had seen of his skin.

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do.” He rolled his sleeve back down, put his jacket back on. Took his cigarette back up. “Is that all you wanted to know?”

“...I don’t know,” she admitted, slumping back into her stool. “I don’t know why I keep coming back.” 

Kamukura smoothed out his jacket, the cigarette pressed between his lips. “Then don’t. You do know that you’ll get in trouble if you’re seen around me.” 

“But--”

He leveled his bloody, piercing gaze at her. “Komaru Naegi. Remind yourself of who you are. Then remind yourself of who I am. Perhaps there are a few things you should rethink.”

An awkward silence fell. Kamukura was right. She could get herself taken by the Future Foundation if they saw her with him. Makoto wouldn’t be able to help if she got caught like this. He finished his cigarette, pressing the butt into the ashtray. “You should go.”

  
  


It burst out of her mouth before she could help it. “Why are you with the rest of them? Why do you stay here? What’s there for you?”

He glazed over his shoulder. In the room’s dim light, it looked like his eyes  _ glowed _ , lighting up red like the end of his cigarette. “Why do  _ you  _ stay here? Why do you come back to me? Why does it matter to you?”

The question rolled over in her brain, grabbing onto whatever it could. Why  _ did  _ she care? Was it because even when he was always with Servant (Komaeda, Komaeda, Komaeda. She couldn’t reconcile the name in her head with the man.), he always seemed to be in his own world? What was he doing? What was  _ she  _ doing?

She shrugged. It really wasn’t much of an answer, but… “You don’t seem like you have many friends.”

“And do you expect yourself to be the one who fixes that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe!” She stood up and came to stand beside him. He wasn’t quite as tall as Komaru expected--only a few inches between them. The view out the window wasn’t exactly great. It wasn’t like there was much to see, anyway. A few lights flicked on and off. But it was just a dead city skyline, for the most part. “You’re not like the other guys.”   
  


“And you’ve only met the children and Komaeda. You do not know us all.”

She tested her luck just a little bit more and leaned in a little closer. “I can make a guess or two, I think. I get told stuff, you know.” Not  _ much,  _ but enough to be sure that he needed a normal person to be around.    
  


“So your aim is to befriend me.”

It wasn’t like she hadn’t done dumber things. 

So she reached up, maybe to like, take his hand or something--and then air was whistling through her hair and her back  _ screamed _ as she  _ slammed  _ into the wall, leaving a massive hole. 

He stared at her. She stared at him. 

“ _ What the HELL was that for?!” _

“Do not touch me.”

She stumbled to her feet, ignoring all good sense and fully preparing herself to get back in his face. “I’m trying to  _ help  _ you! Give you a hand, and you--”

He’d stepped away from the window, the ashtray leaning precariously on the windowsill, threatening to tip over into the dark red carpets. His eyes were  _ burning,  _ brimming with something she couldn’t quite identify.

“Do whatever you like. Try to play nice with me and fix me or do whatever it is you Naegis like to do. But keep touch out of the equation.” 

“You  _ threw  _ me!”   
  


He sat back in his chair then, looking up at her. And just like that, his eyes were as flat as before. Not bored. That couldn’t be bored. He had to be hiding something.

“Would you like an apology?” Ever the civil one, he is. 

“Maybe!” She glared at him, but there’s no...real bite in it. That kind of reaction didn’t come from nowhere. Even in the split second, she’d seen the way his face shifted, how he was already hiding it. “But...sorry I scared you.”   
  


“You have no need to apologize. You should go, Naegi.” He had his hand in a pocket--not the one that rattled. “It is not safe for you to be here.”

“You know I’m not--”   
  


“Based on the frequency of our meetings and how often you like to bother me, this will likely not be our last meeting.” He sighed, something like tiredness visibly washing over him. “We both have matters to attend to. Go home.”

“Fine. But this isn’t the last you’ve seen of me!” she promised, stomping past him. “You really need to talk to some normal people more. If it has to be me, then so be it.”

He shrugged, leaning deeper into his chair as she passed by. “That sounds boring. But don't let me stop you." 

The door slammed under her hand, leaving him alone in the dressing room. There wasn’t even a star on the door. They’d meet again--the feeling gurgling in her stomach made sure of it. They’d meet again, and she’d show him exactly what  _ normal  _ people were like. Even if she was just boring to him! 

She resisted the urge to kick the doors as she left and snuck back home. Yeah, they’d meet again. 

-

A month later, Izuru Kamukura was captured. They hadn't had another meeting yet. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a disease and it's called "wiritng izuru kamukura as a heavy smoker" anyyyway i hope u all enjoyed see you whenever i get hit with inspo to update this again i feel like there'll be a massive time jump or something.


	7. phone call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> several months after the second killing game has ended, Komaru gets in touch with a few former remnants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii welcome back to cringetown i am back with my usual heaping crock of shit hope you enjoy. sorry for no filter today im sleepy and about to watch the third twilight movie with my friends <3

It was a long time before she even heard a word about Kamukura again. Everyone was hush-hush about it all, their lips tightly sealed as to where the Remnants had escaped to. Makoto had helped them. She knew Makoto had helped them and it had eaten her alive, kept her up at night. 

He almost died after he was taken into custody. But she knew class 77 saved him and everyone else.

Led by Kamukura. That’s what they said. But nobody talked any more about it, and they had left almost as soon as they came. Probably never to be seen again--

“You can go visit them, if you want,” Makoto said, his feet propped up on the desk. “You ran into a couple here and there, right?” he thumbed through a file, something vaguely guilty in his tone. “Komaeda said he wouldn’t mind talking to you...if you wanted to.”

“Is he different now?” She laid on his couch, tucking her arm behind her head. The ceiling fan sputtered around in sad, meandering circles. It didn’t do much to help with the summer heat, but she could respect the effort. “I mean...you know, it didn’t exactly go all that well when we met the first time.”

“Maybe a phone call would be better off the bat. But yeah, they’re all back to themselves now. You kinda...saw him at his worst.”

She frowned, counting all the cracks in the paint ( _ 6, 7, 8… _ ). “I’d sure say so! He was  _ creepy! _ I...I guess I wouldn’t mind a call, though. I know none of those guys had their heads screwed on straight. And it--”

“Wasn’t their fault that that happened, yeah,” Makoto nodded, fanning himself with the file now. It was hot for her, and she was only in a short-sleeved shirt and a skirt. He was in a full suit, she couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable he was. She did always think he looked kinda dopey when he dressed up when they were kids--he just didn’t have the personality to not look like a doofus when he had to ask their dad to tie his tie. (She was pretty sure his wife did it for him now.) “I think it’d do them a little good to talk to some more...normal...people, I guess.” He sighed, slumping in his chair. “Komaeda had it rough even before everything happened, though. I think he just wants to apologize. And check up on the kids. I told him you were spending most of your time with them.”

“Yeah, sounds fine by me.” That all seemed well and good to her. They were...his kids, after all, in a weird way. It made sense that he wouldn’t directly want to talk to them. There wasn’t necessarily bad blood, per say, but there surely was apprehension on both sides, fear and old hurts.

Yeah, fine. She could do that. Making amends wouldn’t be the hardest thing she’d ever done. 

“What about Kamukura?” The question burst out of her mouth. “Is he okay?”

“Well…” he swallowed hard. “He’s not...gone, or anything. But he and I don’t get along. And he’s not...available very often. It wouldn’t be easy for me to arrange anything. Besides...didn’t you only meet him once?”

“Three or four times, actually,” she admitted. “I don’t know, we just, like, talked a few times. I just...it’s hard to explain, I guess. He was different. Like he did know what he was thinking.”

“He sure did,” Makoto mumbled under his breath, taking a sip of his water. “I’m sure you know that he doesn’t like me.”

“Not at all.” He’d mentioned it. “I just want to...talk to him...see if he’s okay, still.”

Makoto sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

-

The phone call with Komaeda came not long later. Awkward and stiff. He was cheerful as ever, but there was a quiet apologetic inflection to his words. 

“I do hope you got out of there, eventually.”

“...I did.” She didn’t have much to say about them specifically.

“The children.” He shifted on the other end of the line, perhaps sitting down. “Are they doing well?” There was a faint noise in the background, a different male voice that she couldn’t quite make out. “I...don’t quite think it’s appropriate for me to reach out to them.”

She crossed a leg over the over, leaning forward in the chair. Makoto was in the next room, waiting awkwardly for her to be done. “They’re doing well. They’re back in school and...they’re adjusting pretty good. Have a couple friends.”

“That’s good,” he said, sounding audibly relieved. “I’m glad they’re back in a normal environment...they deserve it.”

“They ask about you, sometimes.” They did. But there was always guilt in their eyes when he came up. “I’ll tell them you said hello.”

“...thank you.”

She shifted uncomfortably in the hard chair. “Is...Kamukura there?”  _ Can I talk to him? _

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. 

“Hello?”

“I...it’s complicated,” he eked out. 

“That’s what everyone’s saying,” she complained. “I just want to talk to him.”

“...give me a minute.” His hand covered the speaker, but not well enough. It was muffled and quiet, but she could make out enough. 

“Hajime?”

“Yeah?” Kamukura’s soft voice. That was him. But...Hajime? Who was  _ Hajime _ ?

“Is Izuru...is he close to the front?”

“Not right now. Why?”

“You know Naegi’s sister? She wants to talk to him.”

“Just...hand him the phone if he fronts anytime soon. I don’t want to bother him right now...he’s tired.” 

The hand uncovered the speaker. “He’s not available right now. But when he does, I’ll make sure you get a call, okay?”   
  


“Who’s Hajime?”   
  


“...my partner,” he said, his voice softening. She couldn’t see his face, she couldn’t see the other man in the room with him. 

“Is he like Toko? With Kamukura?” she pressed, the chair creaking underneath her. 

“You could say so, yes. Izuru isn’t...out very often.” It was hot in the room, still, the fan creaking as it swirled around and around. “He keeps to himself. Quite a bit.”

“But you’ll tell him to call me, right?” she protested. “I want to talk to him.” She really did. Nobody had said what had happened to him. Nobody had told her much of anything once he was captured. She’d gone back to the theater one day and it was abandoned. 

They’d all told Komaru later that he’d been captured, that it was one of the hardest fights they’d ever had. She’d considered asking about him. But nobody would answer her. Nobody said a word.

“Yes, yes. Of course.” Komaeda sounded almost...tired. “I’ll give him your number. I...hope you’re doing well, Komaru.”

“You sound different than before.”

“I would hope so,” he chuckled. “I was quite a terror to you then, wasn’t I? I am...sorry for how I acted. I suppose there isn’t much an apology can do, but…”

“I don’t really want to hold a ton against you. You weren’t in your right mind.”

“I suppose.”

They talked awkwardly for a while, seemingly breathing mutual sighs of relief when they were both called away. 

“...goodbye, then.”   
  


“See ya.”   
  
Makoto perked up when she opened the door. “So how did it go?”   
  


“Coulda been worse, I guess,” she shrugged, tucking her phone back in her pocket. “Just awkward.” 

He nodded, steepling his hands together. “Yeah...he’s sure an experience.” Makoto walked her down the hall. “I just hope you guys can get along if you ever interact again. I just hope you’re okay.” 

“Oh yeah, I’m fine!”

She wasn’t really sure, though.

-

It was 1:36 in the morning when her phone rang again a week and a half later. She startled awake, dumbly searching her nightstand in the dark for the facing-down phone, playing a cutesy little jingle that annoyed the hell out of her sleep-fogged mind. Her hand closed around it and the light scorched her eyes. 

But the phone rings on with a familiar number. 

“...hello?”

“Naegi.” A voice too soft for the face that accompanies it. Red eyes, long dark hair. 

Despite herself, she perked up. “Kamukura? You know it’s one in the morning--”   
  


“You told me to call when I was out.” He sounded just as flat as ever. Like there was no change in him whatsoever. Would there be? Did he have any changes at all? “I don’t have much time to spend out here. So what do you want?”

“Just to check on you, I guess?” She subbed her eyes, tugging her shirt back up over her shoulder. “Nobody was saying like...anything about you. I just wanted to know if you were okay.” 

“I am fine. No thanks to your brother, but I am fine.” 

“What does Makoto have to do with--”

“Quite a bit,” he says (a bit more sharply than before?), shifting wherever he was sitting. There was soft music in the background. Maybe violin. “I suppose he hasn’t said much about his involvement in much of anything.” 

“He was the one who caught you, right?”   
  


“Among other things.”   
  


“Are you going to elaborate on that?” she pushed, shoving the covers off her. It was hot in her room, the portable air conditioner chugging away best as it could and still not doing very well. “What happened?”

“You would not appreciate my perspective,” he says, sounding like he was perhaps making food, cutting up vegetables with the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. “It is unfavorable to him.”

“You can talk to me if you need to, you know!” She was slowly waking up, feeling more and more peppy by the moment. She was just glad that he was...well...okay. “I meant what I said in that dressing room. I wanna help you out.”

“If you say so. He interfered where he shouldn’t have and I was the one who had to deal with the consequences.” The sound of slicing grew more intense, his knife hitting hard against the cutting board. “Then he found a way to absolve himself of any blame.”

“You’re not saying what actually happened.”   
  


“I was hospitalized.”   
  


“ _ What?” _ _   
  
_

He doesn’t give an answer beyond that. The sound of cutting vegetables and faint violin is all that comes through.

“You can’t just  _ leave  _ me with that--”

“If you want details you can ask him.”

Her gut dropped. She didn’t want to confront him on something like this. She wanted to be Kamukura’s...friend, or something, sure, but Makoto was her  _ brother.  _

“But he’s sleeping right now,” she mustered up, flopping back into her pillows. “ _ You’re _ the one who’s here.”

“That’s not exactly my problem.”   
  


“You really are the same as ever, then,” she grumbled, scowling uselessly at him. “If I could come over and get the answer from you, I would--”

“Then come. Nobody is stopping you.”

She paused. A really long pause, too, one that felt too awkward to be normal. “You want me to come see you?”   
  
“It would be a break from the normalcy of here. And a...friendly face wouldn’t be unwelcome.”   
  


“They don’t like you much?”   
  


“Considering what I did, I’d say it’s deserved.”

“You’re really being  _ worryingly  _ vague about all this.”   
  
“Ask your brother. Or come over and beat it out of me, as you said you would. I don’t care which.”   
  


“I think  _ you  _ want me to come see you!” she teased. “Maybe you really do miss me, huh?”   
  


She barely caught it--but maybe, just maybe, he sighed good-naturedly. “I’ll see you soon, then, Naegi. Goodbye for now. I expect to see you before too long.”   
  


The line clicked off before she could say goodbye. There was a smile on her face...but a pit in her stomach.  _ I was hospitalized. _

_ I was hospitalized.  _

She hesitantly opened the messenger app. 

_ Makoto, what happened between you and Kamukura? _

The typing bubble didn’t pop up until she had fallen back into an uneasy sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoyed! love u my friends!!!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> oh, this is important! i’m starting college soon, and my mental health is still recovering, so updates may be slow. please be patient with me :) <3 
> 
> i love you, go drink some water. 
> 
> -fen <3


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